The Night Before Christmas (9 page)

At this, Allie crossed her arms across her chest and leveled Reid with a y
ou have got to be kidding me
look
.

“I'm not kidding,” Reid said, to her unspoken comment. “I'm completely serious. I'll be fine on my own. And, if I need help, you and Walker are only a phone call away.”

“No, absolutely not,” Allie said, shaking her head. “You're not living in that cabin by yourself.”

“Why not? You two had it completely retrofitted while I was in the rehabilitation center. I can use the bathroom by myself, get in and out of bed by myself—­”

But here Allie interrupted him. “Look, it's great you're able to have some independence. But someone needs to be with you at all times. I'm sorry if that's hard for you to accept. But you were in a serious accident, Reid. You almost
died
. The doctor said it's going to be months—­
many
months
—­before you fully recover.”


If
I fully recover,” Reid offered. After all, it was what they were both thinking.

“I didn't say that, Reid. And I didn't mean it, either. You
will
recover. But it's going to take time. And during that time, you're going to need help. However galling it may be to your pride.”

What pride?
Reid wondered, looking down at his damaged leg. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything even remotely resembling pride.

But if he was wallowing in self-­pity now, Allie chose not to see it. She had something else on her mind, Reid realized. Something else she needed, but didn't want, to say to him. He watched while she bit her lower lip, something he knew she only did when she was nervous.

“Allie, what is it?” he asked quietly. “What'd you bring me here for? I mean, other than to tell me I need to improve my attitude?”

Allie sighed. “Reid, that
is
why I brought you here. That, and to tell you that we've found another home health care aide. This one from Minneapolis.”

“Minneapolis?”

She nodded. “We had to find a new agency, remember? Anyway,” she said, glancing at her watch, “Walker's picking her up at the bus stop right now, and then he's bringing her here to meet us.”

“Like a blind date?” Reid asked, cringing at the thought. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes, it is, Reid. Because this time, you're going to make an effort. This time, you're going to be civil, right from the start, in the hopes that your civility will be habit forming. Because Walker and I have both agreed that if this placement doesn't work out . . .” She hesitated here. “If it doesn't work out, you're going to have to go back to the rehabilitation center.”

“What?” Reid said, aghast. “Allie, you can't send me back there.”

She wavered, and Reid knew how difficult this was for her. She liked him. Even when his and Walker's relationship was at its most acrimonious, Reid and Allie had always gotten along.

“We don't
want
to send you back there,” she qualified. “But we will. If you can't make in-­home care work, we won't have any choice, Reid.”

He shook his head, disgusted. When he'd first arrived at the rehabilitation center, after three weeks in the hospital, he'd been in too much pain to really know where he was, let alone to care. But as he'd started to improve, and to take stock of the situation, he'd come to appreciate how truly depressing the place was. Even thinking about it, he could smell the disheartening odor of disinfectant overlaid by furniture polish, and he could hear the constant drone of a roommate's television set, always tuned, somehow, to the same inane game show.

“I won't go back there,” he said now.

“Then make this work,” Allie said, almost pleadingly. “It's only for three months, okay? After that, hopefully, you'll be ready to live on your own again. In the meantime, just . . . just be nice to this woman. Her name is Mila. Mila Jones. And, for some reason, she wants to spend the summer two hundred and forty miles from her home in the Twin Cities. And, not only that, but she comes highly recommended from the woman who owns the agency in Minneapolis. So please, Reid. Please try.”

He looked at Allie. She looked hopeful. Hopeful and trusting. But more than that, he thought, she looked tired. And it made him feel guilty. Paired with the arrival of a new baby, his accident, he knew, had been a lot for Allie and Walker to handle. Not that they ever complained about it. They didn't. They left the complaining to him.

“All right, I'll try,” he said finally, forcing himself to smile one of his increasingly rare smiles. “This time, I'll really try.”

 

About the Author

New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author Mary McNear is a writer living in San Francisco with her husband, two teenage children, and a high-­strung, minuscule white dog named Macaroon. She writes her novels in a local donut shop, where she sips Diet Pepsi, observes the hubbub of neighborhood life, and tries to resist the constant temptation of freshly made donuts. She bases her novels on a lifetime of summers spent in a small town on a lake in the northern Midwest.

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Credits

Cover design by Mumtaz Mustafa

 

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Excerpt from
MOONLIGHT ON BUTTERNUT LAKE
copyright © 2015 by Mary McNear.

BUTTERNUT LAKE: THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS
. Copyright © 2014 by Mary McNear. All rights reserved under International and Pan-­American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-­book on-­screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-­engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of Harper­Collins e-­books.

EPUB Edition December 2014 ISBN 9780062396396

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

 

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